


Secrets

by Paycheckgurl



Series: Torchwood Bingo 2020 Fics [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Torchwood Bingo Fest 2020, With apologies to the British slang I butcher, background OCs - Freeform, torchwood bingo, torchwood bingo 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26140399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paycheckgurl/pseuds/Paycheckgurl
Summary: SecretsOr: The True Stories of How Bloody Torchwood is the Worst Kept Secret in Cardiff
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: Torchwood Bingo 2020 Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897720
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: Bingo Fest 2020





	Secrets

**Secrets**

_  
_ Or _The_ _True Stories of How Bloody Torchwood is the Worst Kept Secret in Cardiff_

* * *

**Gwen**

Gwen knew her friendship with the local fisherman was not exactly protocol. But the thing was he was a sweet old man, and she liked him. She could get away with it under the guise she was simply indulging him. She didn’t exactly admit anything to him...just let him ask questions of Torchwood’s going ons. And sure, he knew all about the lake monsters, and “spooky-dos” as Andy called them. But if she just pretended that she was indulging the jokes of a silly man whose memory was maybe not at 100 percent, what was the harm? 

So every morning, on her way into Torchwood, he asked her all about the latest supernatural happenings on the dock. And every day, Gwen smiled and laughed. It was good to have a friend. And it wasn’t as if she actually told him anything.

No one in Torchwood ever told them anything...not really. 

* * *

**Ianto**

“You’re Torchwood aren’t you?” 

Ianto blinked blankly. 

“I’m afraid Sir, you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. I work for the government. Tourism board.” 

“Yeah, yeah intergalactic tourism board more like. You lot gonna do anything about the Cthulhu lookin’ buggers that invaded the row of pubs in East Wharf?” 

Ianto blinked again, he was sure he hadn’t heard right. 

“Cthulhu looking, was it?” 

“Aye, like something straight out of those Lovecraft books my emo prat of a son reads.” 

“I suppose I can maybe pass it on to someone more...senior in the...government.” 

“Just go tell your bloody boyfriend in the coat to get on it.” 

Ianto’s cheeks went pink. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Looks worse on you making moony eyes at your boss if he isn’t.” 

“Right then...this conversation never happened.” 

Ianto went to reach in his pocket for the recon. It wasn’t there—he was fresh out from the last unsolicited tip he’d received. 

“Why can’t the local Men in Black at least have the neat light sticks like in the movies,” muttered the man. “I _want_ to forget those bloody tentacles.” 

* * *

**Owen (and Martha)**

Martha and Owen sat down at the pub, waiting for the rest of the Torchwood team to arrive. It was a cruel choice of venue given Owen’s current predicament regarding his inability to process alcohol, or well anything, but then again he was the one to suggest this place. No one to blame but himself he supposed.

“Is there a doctor in the house?!” 

Both Owen and Martha got up. 

The bartender looked up at Owen. “Oh good it’s you. I actually needed you specifically.” 

“You needed him, specifically?” asked Martha incredulously. 

“I think it’s a Torchwood issue,” said the Bartender. 

“Shhh, shhh not so loud,” muttered Owen. 

The bartender was not impressed. 

“You lot have to stop pretending we care about the fact you still think you’re all secret. Now are you going to fix my bus boy’s flaxanguard or not.” 

Recognition fell on Martha’s face. 

“Oh is he a Nohadian? Can I have a look?” 

Own sighed (or did the equivalent gesture of sighing that did not require the ability to breathe). 

“She’s with me.”

“Gathered that,” said the bartender. 

“Unified Intelligence Task Force,” Martha flashed her identification. 

“See now those UNIT folks don’t go pretending we don’t know exactly what’s up.” 

“Shut up and bring us to the broken bus boy,” muttered Owen. 

* * *

**Tosh**

Tosh loved the fresh air on the wharf. The cool breeze and the smell of the ocean. It reminded her that she was free. 

Across the wharf an older woman stared at her. And she was staring hard, her eye contact unbroken. 

Tosh took steps to move away. She didn’t get to enjoy solo outings like this often, and she wanted to milk it as long as she could before it was inevitably interrupted by a work call. 

The woman continued staring. It had officially crossed from odd and a tad annoying, to now seriously concerning. 

Tosh didn’t often bring her gun when she was off the clock, but she did keep a taser on her person at all times. She felt for it. The woman began running to approach to her. 

“It was you! Love, can I have your autograph?”

That was unexpected. She was no longer reaching for the weapon. 

“Ummm that’s sweet but I’m not an actress or anything. You must have confused me with someone in town for one of the BBC filmings,” she said. 

“No, no, no. You’re Torchwood! Local celebrities you are. My husband is not going to believe I found one of you!” 

Tosh debated how to deal with this. She often was not recognized in public, even by friends and acquaintances. She shrunk into the background. And she preferred it that way. 

“Uhhhh...I’m not really an autograph type of person,” she tried. 

“I understand Love,” said the woman. “But I don’t think my husband would believe me otherwise. I don’t have one of those fancy phone cameras.” 

“Well...I suppose.” 

Tosh took the pen that she handed to her. It read “Smith and Smith Insurers” on the side. She was then handed a crumpled up receipt from Jubilee Pizza. 

Tosh bit her lip. And then with a laugh, she signed it “J. Harkness.” 


End file.
